


financial backing

by prettywellfunded



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Sugar Daddy, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-09-30 05:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettywellfunded/pseuds/prettywellfunded
Summary: Three weeks before the end of his freshman year in high school, Peter comes home to an eviction notice on their front door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in years and I'm feeling a little rusty, so I'm gonna keep this on anon for my mental well-being. title may change. [ETA: aayyyy, I now have a starker-specific blog, come talk to me: [pretty-well-funded](https://pretty-well-funded.tumblr.com)] 
> 
> my id needed a Tony Stark who would fuck Peter circa Civil War, and to get one, I had to change his entire universe, so. SHIELD died when it was still the Strategic Scientific Reserve - once that peg is pulled, the MCU's plot falls apart pretty easily, and with it, Tony's entire support system. No SHIELD means no Tesseract recovery, which means no alien invasion, and no Avengers. So Tony was on his own to save his own life from palladium poisoning, and since he remained isolated, I'm imagining most of his canonical character growth never happened. 
> 
> Not that there's going to be a lot of plot here, but I was too lazy to actually reveal that bit of backstory, and it explains why a lot of things are just a step to the left.

Three weeks before the end of his freshman year in high school, Peter comes home to an eviction notice on their front door.

It was only a matter of time, really. That’s what he tells himself while he takes deep breaths, trying not to cry or throw up. Uncle Ben had a life insurance policy, but they racked up a lot of hospital bills while he was in a coma, and then there was the funeral…. 

They were lucky, really, that they had enough left over for six… _almost_ six months’ living expenses.

Peter rips the notice off their door and unlocks it with trembling hands, trying not to think about how many of their neighbors might have seen it before he got here. Given everything, maybe it doesn’t matter. 

He closes the door softly behind himself – these days he doesn’t slam it. He has an hour before his shift at Delmar’s. He peeks in on May, just enough to see a nest of hair sticking out of the covers but he doesn’t bother waking her. After work, when he has a sandwich for her, then it’ll be worth it. Mr. Delmar is nice enough to pretend not to notice Peter making himself dinner at the beginning _and_ end of his shift. 

It kept them fed, this month, but. That’s not gonna cut it, anymore. 

Peter has an idea that he’s been kicking around since he realized they’d never make rent. It’s a really terrible idea…so bad that it only avoids ‘mortally stupid’ because he can bench-press an SUV.

Once should be enough, he thinks as he pulls up a website that caters to…the sort of thing he's considering, grateful that Mrs. Kim took pity and shared her wifi password last week. They just need enough money to move to a smaller place – a studio would be fine, they can share – maybe in Jackson Heights. He just needs to keep their heads above water until May starts feeling better.

They only have 3 days to get out, so he signs up on a bunch of websites, puts his story in his profile on each one. Pics that show he’s not ugly while also protecting his identity. Hints between the lines at his real age, in hopes that will increase his value.

His heart is pounding, and he almost shuts everything down a couple of times, but then the eviction notice catches his eye. Ben wouldn’t want them homeless. He wouldn’t approve of Peter’s methods, but…Ben’s not here. And Peter’s making use of one of the few resources he has.

By the time everything is done, he’s late for work.

*

He fucks up half the orders he handles, so worried about the response to his posts that he can’t concentrate on anything else. It’s all he can think about, even though he can’t check for himself – he hasn’t had mobile data in two months. 

He kind of hopes no one responds, so he won’t have to follow through…but he also has to hope there are lots of responses, so he can be a little choosy, or start a bidding war.

Halfway through his shift, Mr. Delmar gets sick of all Peter’s mistakes and sends him home. They both pretend Peter’s pallor and absent-mindedness are him coming down with something, but Mr. Delmar foists two full-sized subs on Peter before he goes. Hunger isn’t the problem, but Peter isn’t going to turn down food when he never seems to have enough, anymore.

He beelines straight for the computer when he gets through the door. It’s stupid, it’s only been a few hours, there’s no way anyone has responded –

Peter refreshes tabs, confused at first with what he’s seeing. His accounts, his posts, are just…gone. Not locked or suspended, gone like they were never there. No TOS notices in his email, nothing but spam and school stuff. 

Before he can make sense of that, there’s a knock on the door.

Peter stops moving, stops breathing, while his mind flips through the nightmarish range of possibilities… landlord, police, CPS…. Could they know? Could someone know that he…there’s no way. More plausible and equally terrifying is that Mrs. Kim has been monitoring his internet usage, and has seen what he’s done. He shakes himself and approaches the door very quietly, hoping he can play possum if he doesn't like what he sees.

The sight that greets him through the peephole is the Dali-esque cherry on a surreal ice cream sunday.

Peter fumbles for the locks and pulls open the door, because he has to make sure that he's seeing what he's seeing. 

Tony Stark is shorter than Peter pictured, almost of a height with him. He’s also…bigger, somehow, and looks just like he does on the news, amused and sardonic, pulling off his purple shades like a movie star, well-rehearsed. “Can I come in?”

Like an out of body experience, Peter hears himself say, “What’re you, what’re you, what’re you doing here?”

“I think it’s better to discuss that inside. There’s a small Korean woman eavesdropping on everything we say. Though, is it still eavesdropping if she’s staring right at me?”

“Oh God.” Peter steps aside enough for Mr. Stark to come in, then pokes his head out in the hallway and smiles at Mrs. Kim’s disapproving face. “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Kim, sorry, it’s just…my aunt’s new boyfriend. Good night!”

“Your aunt’s boyfriend?” Mr. Stark says after Peter shuts the door.

“Um….” Peter looks towards his aunt’s room, but of course she hasn’t stirred. They can’t wake her up.

He takes in the living area with fresh eyes and feels mildly horrified at what Mr. Stark must see. It’s a nice place and they have nice things, by, you know, normal people standards, but everything is dusty and disused, and Mr. Stark isn’t normal. 

At least Peter’s bedroom looks lived in. He leads Mr. Stark back and closes the door, but then he’s alone in his bedroom with Tony freakin Stark, who still hasn’t said why he’s _here_.

Peter watches him scope out the bedroom, poking at the old tech Peter’s cannibalizing, and waits for him to explain himself. When he doesn’t, Peter says, “What – how – why – ”

“Who and when?” Mr. Stark pulls out his phone projects a video of Peter – of Spider-Man – swinging around the city. “Those are my questions, actually. That _is_ you, right?”

Peter recognizes the video as one someone posted on youtube last month; he hasn’t had much time to patrol since he picked up the job at Delmar’s. “What – no, no no, that’s not me…and that isn’t even real, right? It’s edited and stuff.”

“Yeah, let’s cut to the chase.” Mr. Stark prods the trapdoor in the ceiling with a baseball bat and Peter’s spidey suit falls out of the crawl-space.

Peter shoves the suit quickly in the closet, like that will fix things. “Mr. Stark, I can explain – ”

“Save it. I’ve had an eye on you for a while. Mostly I just wanted to make sure you didn’t kill yourself, but then what do I see tonight but this – ” Mr. Stark throws a different app up on his phone, and this one makes Peter's heart stop.

It’s his profile – former profile – on one of the half dozen sugar baby websites he signed up for, not-so-subtly hawking his virginity to whoever made the best offer. It's Peter, selling himself in full living color.

Peter’s knees go out from under him, lucky that he catches himself on the edge of his bed.

“Mr. – Mr. Stark….”

Mr. Stark seats himself in a chair a few feet away. “That was pretty dumb. I took it all down, by the way, and you’re welcome.”

Peter’s brain is white noise. He’s been caught out – twice – and now they’re going to get evicted for sure. His voice sounds weak and far away. “We needed the money. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Your aunt’s not working?”

“She’s…she’s _grieving_. She’s allowed to grieve!” 

Mr. Stark doesn’t say anything in return. Peter can feel him watching. 

“…But I’ll, um. I’ll figure something out. You don’t have to…you don’t have to tell anyone. My aunt’s going to get better, and then…we’ll be fine. I see that I was stupid now, Mr. Stark, I won’t do it again.”

Mr. Stark stands up suddenly, and Peter’s head snaps up to watch as he comes closer. “I’m gonna sit here, so move the leg.”

He settles close enough on the bed that Peter is acutely aware of everywhere they’re almost touching. Mr. Stark claps a hand on his shoulder and says, “Well the good news is, you were looking for a rich guy, and now you’ve got one.”

Peter sucks in a breath. “What – ”

“But you know, what I really want to talk about is this stuff.” Mr. Stark holds up a web shooter, which he must have palmed when the suit came down. “It's impressive. Who manufactures it?”

“Um, I do.”

Mr. Stark nods, and now they’re just looking at each other, direct eye contact that Peter can’t make himself break.

“Well. As it happens, I could use some company. Obviously, you could use a backer. So. Quit the bodega, come hang out with me when you’re not at school, and you won’t have to worry about money again.”

Peter’s stomach flips uneasily at the implications, but…Mr. Stark might just mean science? He did bring up the web shooter. 

His hand is still on Peter’s shoulder, and it’s burning hot even through the hoodie. 

“Come on, kid, it’s a good deal. I’ll upgrade your spider suit to something better than pajamas, we’ll blow stuff up, and we’ll see where things go from there. Let me help.”

As overwhelmed as Peter is, he knows a life preserver when he sees one. 

“Okay.” Peter’s voice cracks on the first try, and Mr. Stark smirks. “Okay, Mr. Stark. Yes. Thank you.”

“Good boy.” Mr. Stark gives his shoulder one last squeeze before he stands. “Come by the tower after school – the one with my name on it, if you hadn’t made the leap – and we’ll get started. I’ll handle your rent and outstanding bills first thing in the morning, so don’t worry about that. Just show up.”

Mr. Stark lets himself out, first from the room, and then from the apartment, and Peter sits, trying to process everything that’s happened that day. He lets himself feel the relief and excitement and concern at this latest plot twist, then he shakes it off. He gets up and locks the front door, plates the sandwiches he brought home from Delmar’s, and carries them back to Aunt May. 

At least they can have dinner together. She probably hasn’t eaten.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter’s in the middle of fourth period biology when his phone starts going crazy with alerts and notifications. Literally every app is telling him that it’s updated, and his social media alerts are blowing up. 

“Peter – do I need to take that phone into my custody?”

Peter mutes his phone and shoves it in his pocket. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Anderson, I really thought my sound was off.”

"Well." The puppy eyes don’t fail him today. Ms. Anderson gives him a small indulgent smile. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“No, ma’am, I won’t.”

Two rows over on his left, Michelle sings out “Suuuuuuck uuuppp,” and Peter gives her a very discreet middle finger.

As soon as Ms. Anderson turns back towards the whiteboard, Peter pulls out his phone and shields it from view with his desk. 

His data is back on. Peter’s pretty sure he knows why, but he tries not to get his hopes up as he goes through the websites where they pay their bills - the portal where they pay rent first, then their electric, internet, and cell phone accounts. They’re all paid through this month, including the overdue balances. He has an email from the internet company saying service has been restored, and his bank account has a fresh deposit. Enough to buy groceries and other essentials.

Peter goes lightheaded with relief, blinking back the tears that want to well up. 

They're going to be okay. And Peter thinks there's not much Mr. Stark could ask for that he wouldn't give, for that to keep being true.

*

Telling Mr. Delmar that he’s quitting is kind of awkward, because he can’t give any notice and he can’t tell the truth about why. Mr. Delmar is definitely annoyed but he’s really nice about it anyway, and tells Peter to let him know if he changes his mind.

It’s almost an hour to Stark Tower by train, but Peter’s never tried to web into Manhattan before and it seems like a bad time to find a spidey-safe route with Mr. Stark expecting him. 

It also gives him an hour to think – worry – consider….

He worries, a little, that he’ll have trouble getting past security to see Mr. Stark – because, who’s going to believe him, first of all, and it’s not like he has Mr. Stark’s phone number – but the woman at the front desk is expecting him, and clears him up through Mr. Stark’s private elevator, which opens directly into his personal lab (holy crap).

Mr. Stark is actually working on one of the Iron Man suits when he arrives, which…Peter has to stop and take deep breaths. Because. _Iron Man_.

Then Mr. Stark turns and smiles, and Peter is gawking for entirely different reasons.

It bears mentioning that his first wet dream started kind of like this. 

“Mute," Mr. Stark says, and suddenly the classic rock blaring through the lab goes silent, leaving a weird ringing silence. “Hey, Pete – you mind if I call you Pete?”

No one’s called Peter that since Ben died, and his throat gets a little tight, but he smiles and nods. He can’t seem to form actual words.

Mr. Stark tilts his head and studies him, still smiling. “So this is where the magic happens – drop your stuff, make yourself comfortable. But if you break anything, I'm gonna bankrupt you."

Peter feels like a slack-jawed idiot, but he can't seem to jolt himself into responding.

"That was a joke, Parker. You don’t have to stay all the way over there, I know you must be dying to touch it.”

Peter’s sharp inhale quickly turns into coughing as he chokes on his own spit, and Mr. Stark is snickering at him now, though he’s nice enough to turn back to his work while Peter’s face goes purple. “I’m sorry, sir, what?”

“He speaks! The suit, Spider-boy, get your mind outta the gutter. Come get a closer look. I recognize that glint in your eye.” 

Then Mr. Stark turns and actually winks at him. Peter hopes that his face isn't as red as it feels.

“Yeah. Um.” Peter desperately tries to play it cool as he leaves his backpack by the elevator and crosses the lab, hands jammed in his pockets. “Which one is this, the Mark 10?”

Peter winces, because knowing that makes him sound like a freaking stalker, but Mr. Stark doesn't seem to notice. He's muttering to himself and adjusting something on the boot.

Now that Peter's standing next to the suit, he can see that he only comes up to its shoulder. The suit always loomed large in his memory, but it's surreal to find that it's massive even now that he's grown. He reaches out and touches the arm, smiling at the lukewarm hum that tells him the suit is powered up.

"That'll do it," Mr. Stark says a few minutes later. "And it's eleven, actually, though that’s a little like insisting you have an iPhone XS – not my finest upgrade.”

“Aw, Mr. Stark, you’re gonna hurt his feelings.” Peter strokes the armor’s shoulder, then feels his way up to the helmet, tracing the seam where red meets gold. 

“Well, I’m sure you can make it up to him.” Peter yanks his hand away once he realizes Mr. Stark is watching him fondle the armor with amusement. “No, seriously, touch it all you want.” 

This is flirting, right? Mr. Stark is flirting with him? Peter's just not sure what he means by it. He looks at Mr. Stark from the corner of his eye, trying not to be obvious. His mouth is dry.

In spite of himself, he reaches out and runs his fingers down the ribbing that must cover Mr. Stark’s lats when it's on. He takes a deep breath and turns to look at Mr. Stark as the man stands up.

“Mr. Stark, I wanted to say thank you for everything you did. I can’t even tell you what it means to know our bills are paid.”

“No sweat – everything’s good then? I left the logistics up to JARVIS, but he doesn't have a body, and he was, you know, raised by wolves. Or, me. Anything he didn't think of that you need?”

“No, no no. Everything’s good. Perfect. I just…. I just wanted to….” Peter’s stomach goes weightless and his heart is pounding but Mr. Stark is looking at him and he's pretty sure he's reading this right, so he throws himself forward and into a kiss.

It’s more like a collision of faces, at first, and Peter pulls back long enough to mutter “sorry” before trying again. It’s not his first kiss – he’s not _that_ pathetic – but he hasn’t had a whole lot of practice either, and Mr. Stark’s facial hair is distracting. He's on his own in the kiss for maybe five seconds, max, but it's the longest five seconds in the history of everything.

He hears the clang of a dropped screwdriver and Mr. Stark’s hands are on him, one resting light on his hip and the other coming up to guide his face into a less awkward tilt. Mr. Stark's lips finally start moving and Peter gives up control, just follows his lead, relieved that he hasn’t colossally fucked up. 

When Mr. Stark’s tongue teases against the tender flesh inside Peter’s upper lip, Peter makes a sound – _barely_ a sound, like, hardly any noise at all, but he can feel Mr. Stark smile against his mouth like he heard it.

Peter’s embarrassed as hell when Mr. Stark pulls back, but when he opens his eyes, Mr. Stark doesn’t look mad or mocking, just soft and at the same time…sharp.

Their bodies are still pressed close – nearly brushing – and when Mr. Stark’s fingers trail up Peter’s side, his hips jag forward. Mr. Stark smiles, and it's still a soft thing. “How old are you, Pete?”

Peter's stomach flips, because that seems like a question that Mr. Stark shouldn't want to ask. 

“Fifteen.” When Mr. Stark’s eyebrow twitches up, Peter adds, "Last week."

"Mm-hmm." Mr. Stark doesn't move in for another kiss, or pull away. He just looks, and says, almost to himself, "If I were a better person, that would be a dealbreaker for me."

Peter starts to get nervous, not sure what to say, or what's next. He's jailbait, that's established. Maybe Mr. Stark is waiting for him to – “I can….” 

Peter reaches down towards Mr. Stark’s belt, and Mr. Stark catches them.

“Woah there, Romeo, you haven’t bought me dinner yet.”

Peter feels his face heat, though Mr. Stark is clearly teasing, a grin on his face. “You, um. I thought…I posted that thing and then you came to my room and said you wanted ‘company’ and we’ll ‘see how it goes,’ so I thought – ”

Mr. Stark smiles wryly, hands moving to Peter's shoulders with a little squeeze. “Yeah, no, you're a smart boy. You picked up what I was putting down. But we don’t need to rush, either, right? I'm not in a hurry. So tell me something, Pete, do you actually _want_ to get your hands inside my pants right now?” Peter’s brain seizes up for a minute, and Mr. Stark's fingers brush over his cheek, soft. Peter's eyes fall shut, and when Mr. Stark continues to speak, it's a little quieter, a little slower. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Listen, I’m not gonna play the hypocrite – hell, I was hosting orgies at MIT when I was your age – but you are…less jaded than I was back then. So we pace ourselves. Agreed?”

This time Peter’s head agrees to bob on his neck, his body tingling with a kind of relief. “Yeah, yes sir, agreed.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Stark steps back and claps, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve got something I want to show you. J, pull up the schematics for Project Arachnid on table 2.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Before Peter can even think to ask who "Jay" is, the holographic table lights up with what is clearly a spider-suit. Peter sucks in a breath, drawn towards it like a magnet. He starts to reach out towards the projection but then draws back at the last moment, turning to look at Mr. Stark for permission.

“Go ahead, play with it.” Smiling a little, Mr. Stark props a hip against the table’s edge and crosses his arms. “It’s all yours. J, create a subfolder for any changes that he makes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Peter’s never used a Stark holographic workshop before, but it’s really intuitive and he gets the hang of it in just a few minutes. Even Mr. Stark’s intense stare fades away as he digs into all the features.

Mr. Stark has all of these really awesome ideas for variations on Peter's web shooter, and he runs a simulation of each one in the holograph. They look like _so much fun_. He's going to have a heads-up display just like Iron Man suits, x-ray and infrared vision, enhanced audio, face and voice recognition. He has like… _wings_. Voice modulation. Stun and taser functions. A built-in heater.

Robots. He has freaking _robots in his suit_. One big recon drone, and a bunch of little…tracking spiders. Holy shit.

Even the suit itself, though – Peter pulls up the specs for the fabric. It's definitely a smart fabric, which is not surprising since this is Mr. Stark (what did he expect, spandex?), but he's never seen anything with these properties. Both the abrasion resistance and the tear strength are nuts, which shouldn't be possible to have at the same time. He could probably be dragged by a speeding bus for ten miles and never skin a knee. But for all its durability, it's also ridiculously flexible, which is bananas, because – 

"Yeah, let me stop you there - you haven't seen anything like it because it never existed before." Peter turns and blinks at Mr. Stark. "I'm not a mind-reader, you were muttering. The fabric is something I've been playing with – ultra high performance high-elasticity alternative for people who rightly hate spandex." Mr. Stark grins.

"It's amazing, Mr. Stark. The only thing I don't understand is how you put it on?"

"Yeah, that's the cool part," Mr. Stark says, like everything about it isn't cool. His hand settles on Peter's lower back as he takes over the worktable controls and pulls up a demo. "Check it out." 

Peter watches the holographic suit reach up and touch the spider emblem in the middle of its chest, and the suit goes baggy, revealing a holographic figure who's able to simply slip out. 

"Woah, that is _awesome_!"

Mr. Stark's hand slides up to gently squeeze the nape of Peter's neck. "I'd make a joke about easy access, but that seems like poor taste." 

Peter's face heats, but he's starting to get that Mr. Stark only means half of what he says, so he elbows him sharply in the side. Mr. Stark exaggerates an oof. Peter's grinning as the figure in the demo pulls the garment back up over his arms, drags on the potato-sack-like mask, and shrink-wraps itself back into the costume. 

"How soon til it's made?"

"I'm still tinkering, but a couple weeks, I think. I can't make the fabric here, so I'll need to send the specs off to the materials lab that makes the Iron Man undersuits. I'll work on the electronic components personally…web-shooters, lenses. I'm not quite ready to pull the trigger, though. You should think about what you want that I haven't included, yet."

Peter looks back at the table and swallows – it's a little hard to imagine there's anything Mr. Stark has forgotten. "Can I think about it and get back to you?"

"Sure, no problem. J, load these up on a Stark tablet with full biometric security so Mr. Parker can review them at home. Changes saved to his folder."

"Is that – " Peter pauses, putting pieces together from what he's heard. "Do you have an AI?"

"Nah." Mr. Stark grins. "No such thing as AIs yet, kid. JARVIS is just a…rather very intelligent system. Right, J?" 

"That is correct, sir. If I were a true artificial intelligence, the federal government would find me far too interesting." Peter's grinning like a fool and ready to ask ten thousand followup questions, starting with _holy shit, does it actually have a sense of humor?_ when JARVIS says, "But if I may interrupt, Mr. Parker appears to be displaying the signs of fatigue associated with hunger. Would you like me to place a dinner order?"

Peter's face heats as his stomach chooses that moment to loudly cast its vote. He's usually had a sandwich by now, but it seemed rude to ask Mr. Delmar for food right after he'd quit.

Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow. "Yep, good call. Go ahead and do that – times four. I imagine Mr. Parker is quite the bottomless pit. Have it sent up to the penthouse. Chinese sound good?"

"It's…Mr. Stark, you don't have to…." Mr. Stark looks skeptical and just the tiniest bit impatient, and Peter really doesn't want to get on his nerves the very first day. "Ok, yeah, that would be amazing."

"Good boy." Mr. Stark casually ruffles Peter's hair. "Thanks, J."

"My pleasure, sir. Mr. Parker, I'd like to say how _nice_ it is to take care of someone who isn't determined to drive themselves to the brink of starvation."

"See? Less than an hour and you're already his favorite. Let's head upstairs."

*

Peter follows Mr. Stark up a curving flight of stairs that hugs the wall of the room, then he sort of hovers at the top near the edge of an obscenely large living room while Mr. Stark wanders behind a _full-sized bar_ to pour himself a drink. 

Peter's not sure what's next, now that the pretense of work is over and sex is apparently off the table. He's just waiting for a cue from Mr. Stark on how to act, but he seems completely unaware that Peter is confused. 

Peter licks his bottom lip. "So um…what are the rules for this, Mr. Stark?"

"Rules." Mr. Stark repeats, like he's unfamiliar with the concept, or testing it out. "Did you _want_ rules? I don't have much use for 'em, myself, but it takes all kinds."

"I just…have no idea, like, what this is or how to act or what to expect. Or what _you_ expect. I would just feel better if I knew…something."

"Ok, well." Mr. Stark wanders out from behind the bar and settles himself on a spotless white sofa. He takes a sip and gestures for Peter to sit. "It's not the kind of thing that has rules, aside from, you know, don't get yourself killed while you're out there doing whatever spider-boy can. And I'd think that's a rule you've set for yourself already."

Peter makes an educated guess about how close Mr. Stark wants him to sit, second and third guesses, then picks one cushion away. "Yeah, of course. Aunt May – "

"Right. So beyond that, don't overthink it. I don't have any expectations. I have ideas, sure, but expectations? None."

No expectations. Right. Peter looks away. "It's so much money."

Mr. Stark takes a sip of his scotch. Peter can feel him looking. "Pete, there's no way to say this without sounding like a dick, but it's a lot of money to you. To me, it's nothing. I won't even notice that it's gone."

Peter looks at his hands in his lap. "Okay, I get that. But…you don't just go around giving away money." His head shoots up, a little alarmed. He darts Mr. Stark a look. "I don't mean that in a bad way, just…I know you're giving it to _me_ because…I mean, you knew I was Spider-man, but you didn't _say_ anything about it til I made that post, so it seems like…. Mr. Stark, it's nice of you to say you have no expectations, but that can't be true."

"You think I gave you money so that I'd be entitled to your body."

Peter can't tell if the heat in his face is more embarrassment or arousal. Mr. Stark just… _said that_. And Peter didn't unequivocally hate it. He's not sure how to feel about his feelings. "I mean, that's the way this works, right? This…type of arrangement."

Mr. Stark scrubs at his face and then puts his drink aside, turning to angle his body towards Peter. "Ok, truth time. I need you to turn and look at me when I say this." 

Stomach churning, Peter shifts. His eyes only make it as far as Mr. Stark's nose, but apparently that's good enough, because Mr. Stark continues.

"The general consensus is that I am not a good man, world-saving aside. Not a charge I dispute, by the way. And opinions would differ on whether entering into a sexual relationship with an individual of your tender age makes me a rapist. That debate aside, I don't fuck people without their full, and dare I say enthusiastic, consent. Even Satan has to draw the line somewhere – nope, nope, don't interrupt. If I were a decent human being, the thought of holding you to your assumption wouldn't make my dick hard." Peter's heart is pounding as Mr. Stark reaches out and thumbs over Peter's bottom lip with dark eyes. "But it does, because I'm not. I'm not a good person, Pete, but fantasies aside, I don't actually want to take anything that you're not happy to give."

Peter's mouth is dry and his skin is on fire, and if Mr. Stark looks down, he'll see just how happy Peter is to give him…something. He's not sure what, but he knows it's more than the state of New York would like.

"So. There's that. Now, why you, why do you get the offer, why do you get to take the money without pointless middle-class guilt. For one, it's a little about sex. When JARVIS found those posts, I almost lost my mind, I'm not gonna lie. So if you insist on being deflowered by a dirty old man to earn your keep, I'm your guy. Secondly, I'm a piece-of-shit capitalist with more money than any one person should have, and if I'm willing to give it to you no strings attached, you should jump on that and consider it a small slice of justice in an indifferent universe. 

"Lastly, no way around it, kid, I've been stalking you, broke alllll the privacy laws, probably have more dirt on you than you have on yourself, so I know what I'm talking about when I say that if anyone deserves a break, it's you. You're smart and you're brave, and I say both of those things as a certified genius who strapped himself into a tin can to fight terrorists. I like you, I want you to have the money. Live with it."

It's a few minutes before Peter can scrape together the brain cells to say anything at all, and Mr. Stark just sits there, very still, waiting for…something. It's the first time he hasn't bothered to blow Peter's reaction off with a joke or a change of subject. 

"So…." Peter swallows, trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "So, what you're saying is, I can do whatever I want with you. With…for…sex."

Mr. Stark gapes for a moment, and then his whole face, his whole body, transforms with this laugh. This amazing, delighted, full-body laugh that Peter wants to see every day forever. It's contagious, and he's grinning by the time Mr. Stark wipes the tears from his eyes. 

"I'm hoping that's not all you got from my speech, because that was some of my best work – candid, self-effacing, good stuff. But yes, Pete, bottom line: you can have me any way you want me."

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but your food is in the elevator on the way up."

"Have I ever told you that you're a cockblock, J?"

"Many times, sir. The fact remains that Mr. Parker is hungry."

Mr. Stark tips a smile at Peter. "When he's right, he's right. Get yourself a drink while I grab the food – plenty of mixers behind the bar. And while I'd love to get you drunk and take advantage of you, I have to say, if you're heading home tonight, it's probably not such a hot idea."

"Yeah, I'm – Aunt May is expecting me."

Mr. Stark holds his eyes over that for a few beats, not calling Peter out on a lie, but making it clear that he sees it. Just as Peter ducks his head, Mr. Stark claps him on the shoulder. "Meet you back here in 5."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hokay, so I didn't intend to take a 2 month hiatus, but a lot's been going on, including a trip overseas and a career transition. as recompense, you get a long-ish chapter and it's mostly porn. whee!

Peter rummages behind the bar and then pours himself a Coke, excited to have soda that isn't the watered-down stuff from the deli. Mr. Stark is back way quicker than he expected, setting half a dozen plastic bags on the coffee table. 

"I didn't hear the delivery guy."

Mr. Stark pulls a face, squatting next to the coffee table and breaking a bag open. "Do you honestly believe I'd let some random guy working minimum wage ride the elevator to my _penthouse_? Even if I wanted strangers up here – which I don't – it's a nightmare for security."

"You let me up here," Peter says, sitting within easy reach.

Mr. Stark points cheap wooden chopsticks at him. " _You_ aren't random."

Peter shrugs. If he hadn't been bitten by a spider and caused his uncle's death, that's all he'd be to Mr. Stark – a random guy working minimum wage.

"So, I've seen what you can do," Mr. Stark says around a mouthful of mushu. "What's your deal? How does a boy from Forest Hills have what it takes to catch 3000 pounds at 40 miles an hour?"

Peter busies himself looking through the containers at his options. "Just…lucky, I guess."

He can feel Mr. Stark watching him as he picks through and chooses a dish to start with – though, Mr. Stark is right, if he's allowed to eat as much as he wants, he'll be plowing through most of the food here before he's done. 

He picks some General Tso's and straightens up to realize that Mr. Stark has settled himself on the spotless white couch. Peter hesitates.

"You waiting for an engraved invitation, or what?"

"I just…I don't want to get Chinese food on the couch."

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes. "Don't worry about it, my furniture has seen worse things. J, throw a movie up on the screen. Anything you want to see, Pete?"

"Um." He settles carefully within easy reach, and opens up his carton. "I never got a chance to see The Last Jedi?"

Mr. Stark gasps dramatically, and Peter smiles. "That is a crime against humanity. J, load it up."

"So long as you promise not to call me 'C-3PO' for the rest of the week, sir."

"No deal. Make like a British worrywart, and you deal with the consequences." Peter laughs and Mr. Stark throws him a grin. Peter watches him for a second as the opening scene begins, grateful that Mr. Stark didn't push for more answers. Without taking his eyes off the screen, Mr. Stark says, "Eat up. Growing spiders need all the calories that hold still long enough to be eaten."

"Thanks for dinner, Mr. Stark."

"Ssshhh. I'm trying to watch a movie here."

*

Peter can't remember the last time he ate until he was full – he hadn't even adjusted to his new metabolism when Ben was shot, and then there was worry and grief and Aunt May lost her job and it fell on Peter to manage their bills, and he knew how much money they _didn't_ have for groceries.

So by the time Peter stops eating, he feels like he's drugged, like he's high. How did he never notice how _good_ it feels not to be hungry? Then again, he never was, before, not for more than a couple hours. His parents, then his aunt and his uncle, always saw to it that he was fed. 

He misses them so much. He just didn't realize how much he also missed being cared for, until today.

Peter turns his head a fraction so he can watch Mr. Stark. Peter half-expected for the movie to be an excuse, but Mr. Stark hasn't made a move, hasn't done anything but refill his scotch and work on his phone and make enough wise-cracks that Peter knows he's still aware of his surroundings.

He hasn't reached for Peter.

In one way it's nice – without the searing searchlight of Mr. Stark's attention, he's been able to relax for the first time in the man's presence. This whole thing isn't what Peter expected, but it is still…overwhelming.

"Not enjoying the movie?" Mr. Stark says without taking his eyes off his work. 

Peter's not sure when he started outright staring. There's a little smirk on Mr. Stark's face, but his fingers haven't stopped dancing over the screen. It's…weirdly hot. 

"No, I um. I just…."

Mr. Stark tears his eyes away from his work long enough to focus on Peter. Immediately, it's just a little harder to breathe. 

"Nothing, sir. It's nothing."

"Mm." Mr. Stark's eyes roam over Peter for a few extra seconds before he turns away. "If you say so."

Peter doesn't bother to put his attention back on the movie. He's sure Mr. Stark notices he's watching, but his silence is permission, and Peter doesn't want to look at anything else. The movie is fine, but it's not…not what he wants to be doing, right now.

When Peter scoots a little closer, Mr. Stark's mouth twitches, but he doesn't stop his work.

It's…dumb, and probably childish, but Peter's not quite brave enough to up and crawl into Mr. Stark's lap. He isn't sure exactly what he wants, much less how to ask for it, so he just…. The one thing he knows he wants for sure is to get closer.

By the time Peter's stealth approach has him pressed in against Mr. Stark's side, there's an arm around his waist, pulling him close, so Peter knows he's welcome. And then there's the scent of Mr. Stark's neck and Peter can't…can't get enough, hooks one leg over Mr. Stark's thighs and buries his face in that spot and breathes in the motor oil and light sweat and whatever scented product Mr. Stark used before the lab – body wash, aftershave, whatever it is, it smells _good_. It makes him feel warm and excited and safe.

He's lost enough in the scent that it's a mental jolt when Mr. Stark's voice rumbles out from under him. "Kid, you are seriously stress-testing my self-restraint."

Sometime while Peter was lost in his head, Mr. Stark stopped working. In fact, he seems to be barely breathing, and Peter feels the tension in his muscles through the old worn band shirt. Like it's taking everything he has not to….

In a fit, it becomes a little clearer to Peter what he wants. "What if…." His breath, or maybe the close brush of his mouth, makes Mr. Stark's hand clench down on his side, and Peter's nerves jangle pleasantly. "What if I don't want to test your self-restraint?"

Mr. Stark huffs. "Then you've made a serious tactical error."

"No," Peter says, impatient. If it's possible, Mr. Stark becomes more tense. "I mean I want…I want you to, um. Push me."

Peter's stomach is churning as Mr. Stark grips him by the scruff and pulls him away from the dark, safe crook of his throat. His eyes are intense on Peter's face, but he doesn't ask any questions, just looks. For one, long moment.

"Say more."

Peter's face is burning, and his tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. He has to let his eyes fall before he can speak. "I want…. You said – you said the thought of holding me to my assumptions made your…made you…."

Mr. Stark's hand spasms on Peter's neck. He reaches out with his other hand to touch Peter's face, and it feels…weird, just a little wrong, the rough drag of his knuckles. "You want me to take advantage of you, Pete?"

Peter squirms against Mr. Stark's hip. He can hardly breathe. "Yes, Mr. Stark."

"Fuck," Mr. Stark breathes. "I'm going to hell. Let the record show that I tried. To be better."

Peter manages to drag his eyes up to Mr. Stark's face, and he looks…dark, a little dangerous, no trace of the friendly reassurance he's shown all day. Peter's stomach feels weightless, like the moment before his webs catch.

Mr. Stark's grip loosens, and then he's nudging away with both hands. "I think it's time for you to lay back for me like a good boy."

Peter scoots down the sofa, slow and deliberate – this is really, actually happening. His heart is pounding and his dick is hard, but his hands are trembling just a bit with adrenaline. That's a feeling that he's used to, just not from being horny.

He lays back, knees sprawled apart and nerves jangling. Mr. Stark's eyes pin him down and make him feel…make it feel unsafe to show his belly, even before Mr. Stark's hand slides from Peter's knee up his inner thigh. It stops just short of the tent in Peter's jeans. 

It's fucked up that his dick is throbbing by how much this feels like…by how much it feels like something _wrong_.

"Maybe not such a good boy, after all," Mr. Stark says, shifting sideways on the sofa. His hand covers Peter's dick and massages it through his jeans, and Peter tries, desperately, not to move or make a sound. He doesn't succeed. "This feels more than a little naughty, to me."

"Mr. Stark – "

Peter's not even sure what he wanted to say, he just wants…but then Mr. Stark crawls up the sofa, on top Peter. 

Mr. Stark's not that much bigger, and he's a fraction of Peter's strength, but when he settles his weight down, it. It's just. He's solid and close and _everywhere_. It's a feeling that's compounded by the way he turns Peter's head to the side with one calloused hand and holds it still.

Peter's hips jerk at the prickling burn of a beard against Peter's throat, and Mr. Stark laughs a little, which does nothing to calm Peter down.

"Yeah, not such a good boy, after all. Not when you're this desperate." Mr. Stark's voice is right in Peter's ear. He clutches at Mr. Stark's ribs, and shifts, restless. Hot. Hotter when Mr. Stark wraps a fist in Peter's hair and pulls, hard enough to make him squirm. "Are you a dirty little slut, Mr. Parker?"

Peter whimpers. His cock is throbbing. It's – he doesn't know why – "N-no, Mr. Stark. I'm. I'm good."

Mr. Stark's full weight bears Peter down into the couch with a grind. Peter sobs. 

"Are you sure? You _sound_ like a dirty slut to me." Mr. Stark's cock is pressed against his hip – Peter can feel it, feel the way Mr. Stark is using Peter's body to make himself hard. Peter presses up into the grind, spreading his legs…it lines Mr. Stark's crotch up with his own. Peter moans under his breath, fingers twisted into Mr. Stark's shirt, hanging on for dear life as Mr. Stark drives him closer to the edge. "You even spread like a little slut. C'mon, Pete, tell me – what kind of person begs to be molested by a man three times his age?"

 _Oh_. Peter can't catch his breath. "Mr. Stark – "

"That's right, say my name." He feels light-headed under the steady, grinding rhythm of Mr. Stark's hips. He's gonna…oh God, he going to…. "God, you are going to make such gorgeous sounds when I'm splitting you open on my cock."

"Nnnn – " Peter comes hard in his pants, arching hard enough to nearly buck the other man off as he does.

"…Well that was fast," Mr. Stark says after a beat. "Am I flattered? I think I'm flattered."

Peter peels open his eyes, sweaty and trying to catch his breath, to find Mr. Stark braced above him. He looks more like the man Peter spent the day with, amused and a little soft, but still…sharkish. 

He reaches out and smooths Peter's hair back from his sweaty face. It's gentle, and Peter feels his guard go down, sleepy and relaxed. 

" _You_ are delightful," Mr. Stark says. Peter can't even be embarrassed at how he blushes…Mr. Stark's studying him like a fascinating new toy. "Christ, I could eat you alive."

Peter's still sleepy and pliant as Mr. Stark takes his hand and kisses it, but his face starts to burn as Mr. Stark drags his hand down between their bodies, presses it - molds Peter's palm around his erection through denim, staring down at Peter's face as he encourages him to rub and squeeze. 

It's…Peter's not sure why he thought they were done. Mr. Stark…clearly isn't. His eyes are half-focused on Peter's face, teeth digging into his bottom lip. "Keep going?"

Peter's breath hitches. He enjoys courting danger way too much to say anything but "Yes."

Mr. Stark releases his hand and kneels up, reaching for the rivet of his jeans. "Have you ever touched somebody else's dick, kid?"

Peter's eyes are glued to where Mr. Stark is opening his fly. "No."

"I'll tell you what…virgin's choice. You can give me a handjob. Or I can jerk off while you watch me –those big bambi eyes would get me there quick – " Mr. Stark pushes his jeans and boxers down without ceremony, and suddenly Peter is staring at Mr. Stark's dick. It's…bigger. " _Or_ …we ditch the clothing and you let me rub off against your sweet little body. I'll even let you come again. Which'll it be?"

Now that Peter's come, this all feels a little surreal. He's doing this. Sex is happening. He's not regretting it or anything, he doesn't want to stop – he's wanted to have sex with Mr. Stark since he discovered the recreational use of his dick, it's just.

It's just a little fast for comfort.

"Pete?" Mr. Stark says.

Peter struggles to pull his eyes up to Mr. Stark's face. Mr. Stark, of course, is smirking. "…What?"

There's a flash of teeth as Mr. Stark laughs at him. "How do you want to do this?"

Right, handjob, watching, or... "Um, the. The last one?" It seems the least likely to involve Mr. Stark's piercing stare. Peter's not sure he can handle that much longer.

"Mm, that was my favorite too. Ditch the shirt."

Peter sits up just enough to pull his shirt off over his head, fumbling a little as Mr. Stark starts to open Peter's fly and yank his jeans down to his knees. Mostly naked, Peter's suddenly unsure what to do with himself as Mr. Stark looks at his body. 

A rough fingertip trails down his stomach. 

It's a relief when Mr. Stark leans down to kiss him on the mouth. Then there's bare skin pressed against him where he's never felt bare skin before and Peter gasps into the kiss. 

"Feel good?" Mr. Stark murmurs. 

Peter nods. He isn't even hard again yet, but this feels…really good. Mr. Stark's weight holding him down, dick sliding through the mess of Peter's orgasm. It's…Peter's more exposed than Mr. Stark, whose t-shirt and jeans are still most of the way on. He manages to ruck the man's shirt up, wanting more, before he finds his hands pinned above his head. 

" _Oh_."

Mr. Stark nips at his bottom lip. "You like that, sweetheart?"

"Y-yeah." Mr. Stark's grip tightens on Peter's wrists, his knees pushing Peter's thighs further apart. 

Something in the back of Peter's mind hisses, _spread like a slut_. It makes him quake all over.

"Am I making your little dick hard again, Pete?"

Peter nods, gasping as he starts to chub up, too sensitive, too fast. He closes his eyes and throws his head back, desperately trying to catch his breath. And to escape Mr. Stark's eyes.

It just means he doesn't see it coming when Mr. Stark sets his teeth around Peter's Adam's apple. Peter arches, and Mr. Stark bears him back down to the couch.

"Jesus, I want to sink my teeth in. Mark you up." His teeth scrape again, where Peter's neck meets his shoulder. Peter squirms. "Can't, though, not yet – how long til school's out?"

"Th-three weeks." 

"I probably shouldn't risk beard burn, either." Mr. Stark pulls back to study Peter's face, fingers brushing lightly over his chin. The skin feels sensitive. "Shit. Ok, here's what we'll do."

Mr. Stark climbs off the couch. "What…?"

Peter's confused but lets himself be manhandled onto his stomach, watching nervously over his shoulder as his jeans are pulled free of his legs. Mr. Stark braces his knee between Peter's and strokes big, rough hands over Peter's back. 

"Such a beautiful boy."

Peter sighs and relaxes into the touch, until the hands return back down and spread his cheeks. Until Mr. Stark starts stroking Peter's hole. His stomach flips. Mr. Stark said…but then Peter told him to push….

Mr. Stark is staring down at Peter's ass, and doesn't notice Peter watching. "Mr. Stark?"

"It's okay, sweetheart, just enjoying the view." There's a very particular look on his face, an unsettling one. Peter's not sure…but it's not like Mr. Stark is doing anything bad. "You ever play with your little hole?" Mr. Stark's thumb presses down – not inside, just testing the give. It makes Peter's breath catch with every push. "Ever put anything inside?"

Peter squirms, and Mr. Stark looks up. "Not…really, not yet." Not anything more than touching from the outside, and thinking about more. 

Mr. Stark crawls up Peter's back and nestles in so they fit together, tight. He wraps one arm around Peter's chest to anchor himself, the stiff line of his dick rubbing against Peter's hole. "Does it make me a very bad man," he murmurs against Peter's ear, "if I say you should leave that for me?"

A shudder wracks Peter's body, then another at the way the body on top of his rides it out, weighs him down. "Probably."

"But you like it anyway, don't you?"

"I – " Mr. Stark sinks his teeth into the meat of Peter's shoulder, and he gasps. The way his back happens to arch presses his ass up against Mr. Stark. "Yeah, I do."

"Of course you do. You're a good boy. So if I tell you this ass belongs to me, you say…."

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark hisses out a breath, bites down on Peter's earlobe. "Yes, very good. You won't touch it, beyond basic hygiene, do you understand? Play with your naughty little cock all you like, but you won't touch what's mine."

Peter is panting, just a step from overwhelmed, but desperately turned on. "Okay. I won't, sir, I swear."

"Fuck." Mr. Stark rocks against him, but their bodies stick together, sweaty. "I've never been this turned on in my life."

Mr. Stark strains to grab his jeans off the floor and riffles through the pockets. He must have lube, because he pushes their bodies apart just long enough for a cold squirt of liquid along Peter's ass crack, then something plastic is clattering to the floor.

"Oh God," he says as Mr. Stark settles in and starts to thrust, against Peter's ass. Mr. Stark's shins pin his knees against the cushions, and he's gripping Peter's wrists.

"Mm, you know, I kind of like that – maybe a little worshipee-worshipper role play in our future." Mr. Stark's panting, words slurred just a little, and the sound of lube between their bodies is obscene. "You on your knees, me laying…sacrament on your tongue. Whaddayou think?"

Peter can't answer beyond the helpless moaning he has going anyway, but Mr. Stark doesn't seem to mind. 

"Fuck, your perky little ass feels so good. It's gonna look phenomenal in that suit. There are going to be hordes of thirsty fans rubbing one out to Spider-Man, mark my words. But they can't have you, can they, sweetheart?"

Peter's dick is trapped against the sofa, rubbing against the (Jesus) almost unbelievably silky upholstery with every vigorous thrust. Peter grips the sides of the cushion – something tears, and his fingers punch straight through to foam. "Mr. Stark – "

"You need to squirt again honey? Go right ahead." 

Peter is coming before Mr. Stark is even done, something about that – squirt, maybe, or honey – just clocking him upside the head. 

"That's a good boy," Mr. Stark grunts, thrusts going jagged as he shoots all over Peter's lower back.

Their breathing seems loud after, even though the movie's still playing over Mr. Stark's sound system. They smell like sex, Peter realizes, because they had sex. His head is clearing faster than he wants it to. Mr. Stark hums, scrubbing his beard back and forth between Peter's shoulder blades before pressing a kiss along his spine.

"I told you my couch had seen worse," Mr. Stark mumbles, and oh my god, Peter jizzed all over Mr. Stark's couch. Not to mention the sweat, and lube….

He starts to giggle – he hates that word, okay, but his laughter is 40% hysteria and Peter's laugh goes high and weird when he's nervous, so there's really no other word for it. He can feel Mr. Stark smile against his back, and then feel him start to chuckle, and it's not that funny, it's really not, but Peter is freaking out and now he can't stop.

Mr. Stark sits up, and Peter feels very naked, so he sort of curls onto his side as his laughing fit winds down. His jeans and boxers are too far to reach.

After a moment, Mr. Stark sighs. "I am intimately familiar with the sound of a silent freakout. How're you doing, kid?"

"I'm fine," Peter says, painfully aware that it's not at all convincing. He sits up, leg angled so his junk isn't just…out there. He doesn't look at Mr. Stark. "I was just thinking that I should get home."

He doesn't move, though, and Mr. Stark takes Peter's chin in hand and turns his head, tapping with his thumb until Peter lifts his eyes.

He's doing the eyebrow thing. "Is this normal first-time awkwardness, or is something actually bothering you? I honestly can't tell."

"I think…I think just. Normal."

"Okay." Mr. Stark relaxes a little, but his eyes are still measuring. He releases Peter's chin and taps his own lips. "Come give me a kiss before I feel dirty and used."

Peter smiles helplessly and leans in. The kiss is different this time, kind of soft and soothing, and he finds himself relaxing by the time he pulls away.

Mr. Stark tosses Peter his jeans, and starts to pull on his own. "J, can you call a car to take our guest home?"

"Certainly, sir. I'm also scheduling your sofa for a thorough cleaning."

"Thanks. And also, nobody asked you."

Peter just knows that his face has gone scarlet. He knows JARVIS isn't…a real person, but…isn't he though? They basically just did that in front of him, or at least he was listening in, and he feels super weird about it. So instead, he addresses the other thing.

"Mr. Stark, you don't have to – I can take the train home, it's no problem."

He gets an assessing look, a little hot, as he pulls on his t-shirt. "I don't think you know what you look like, right now. It's like chum for sharks – take the ride."

"It's not like anyone can hurt me, Mr. Stark. Really – "

"Peter. Take the ride."

Peter backs down from the look on Mr. Stark's face. "Okay. Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow"

*

It's still a long, uncomfortable ride home. The train actually might have been faster, but given the long look he'd gotten from the driver before he got in (like, neutral, professional, but judgy underneath), it's probably for the best that he didn't. He can still smell the sex on himself like overdone perfume. And he can't stop squirming.

When he gets home, he goes straight for the shower, and catches sight of himself in the mirror: lips still puffy despite the long wait in traffic, hair a mess from rolling around, and the bruising visible above his collar is subtle but unmistakable. It'll probably be gone by morning, with his healing, but yeah, he undoubtedly looks like he just had sex. Like someone…God, like someone had their way with him, as stupid as that sounds.

Peter starts the shower, already doing a mental inventory of the kitchen – he didn't go grocery shopping yet, and Aunt May needs to be fed. 

He thinks they have some canned soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I kind of want to do some flash writing in between chapters to get my juices flowing. that sort of requires friends to give me prompts, though? wanna come play with me? come hang out with me on tumblr at [pretty-well-funded](https://pretty-well-funded.tumblr.com/)


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